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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28778757">would my every prayer begin and end with just your name?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSacrificialPancake/pseuds/TheSacrificialPancake'>TheSacrificialPancake</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Get Thee to a Dentistry, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, One Shot, They're flirting your honor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:00:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28778757</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSacrificialPancake/pseuds/TheSacrificialPancake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t think I’ve ever danced,” Cas announces. </p><p>Dean freezes with the bottle of bourbon halfway to his lips. “You’ve <i>never</i> danced? Are you kidding me? You’re, like, a billion years old."</p><p>or</p><p>Drunken Dean teaches newly-human Cas how to dance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>187</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>would my every prayer begin and end with just your name?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>friend’s note: “bro this was like snorting sugar.”</p><p>do with that what you will.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t think I’ve ever danced,” Cas announces. </p><p>Dean freezes with the bottle of bourbon halfway to his lips. He’s had enough that his head is swirling a bit, and from the looks of the nearly empty tumbler dangling from Cas’s hand, he can’t be far behind. Especially not with his impervious-angel-of-the-lord constitution ripped from him, along with his wings and the rest of his grace.</p><p>They’re sitting in the library of the bunker, in the matching leather armchairs they’ve been occupying more and more often as of late. Nearly every night for the last month, in fact, each time with a new soundtrack.</p><p>Tonight, the room is filled with fuzzy-sounding jazz standards. Cas had informed him earlier that evening that the playlist consisted of radio hits from the 1930s. Dean had thought privately that neither of them would be able to pin a date to the crooning voices without Google’s assistance. Sometimes entire decades of music sound the same to him.</p><p>Since Cas fell, he’s been exploring the wonders of the internet in order to brush up on his music history. Dean was slightly offended at first that his own classic rock collection wasn’t enough to satisfy Cas’s curiosity, but the change has actually been pretty nice. He may be an old dog who knows every word of his favorite records by heart (and stubbornly listens to nothing else), but he’s not dead. He can appreciate talent and artistry. A delicious guitar lick here, a brilliant lyric there, a pounding bass thumping through his chest like a second heartbeat. </p><p>Not that he’d ever admit out loud that he enjoyed the Donna Summer phase. Some things are too embarrassing to put to words.</p><p>“You’ve <i>never</i> danced?” Dean asks incredulously. </p><p>“No,” Cas says, almost horrified, like the realization has surprised him as well. </p><p>“Are you kidding me? You’re, like, a billion years old. You’ve never even tapped your foot?”</p><p>Cas stares at a spot over Dean’s shoulder, eyes blurring out to the middle distance. “Well, we frequently rejoiced, in Heaven. When our brothers returned victorious from battle, when Father created humanity.” An impossible fondness rises on his face. “When I rescued you from Hell.”</p><p>Dean gulps.</p><p>“But no, there was never any dancing. Angels celebrate with their voices, with, uh...<i>celestial harmonies.”</i> His grimace tells Dean all he needs to know about the musical merits of those songs.</p><p>“Humans should probably adjust their definition of ‘voice of an angel,’ huh?” Dean snickers. “I’m guessing celestial harmonies would leave my ears bleeding.” Cas makes a disgusted sound, like a child feigning being sick, and the bark of laughter from Dean’s core comes out like an honest-to-god <i>giggle</i>. Man, they are smashed.</p><p>“So what, no Mozart up there? Amy Winehouse? The Beatles?”</p><p>Cas nods his chin towards the laptop and bluetooth speaker warbling piano and brass. “Why do you think I’ve been so determined to consume Earth’s music? Humanity has created many remarkable things, but I must admit, Youtube and Spotify are currently at the top of my favorites list.”</p><p>Dean purses his lips and drawls. “Aw, Cas, media companies have bumped <i>me</i> out of first place?”</p><p>Cas meets his steady gaze, and all jocular tone drops from his voice. “I stand corrected. They are <i>almost</i> at the top of my list.”</p><p>Dean bites his lip, and takes another swig of whiskey to hide the burn of his cheeks.</p><p>“My true form likely wouldn’t allow for the type of movement dancing requires anyway.” Cas goes on as if he hasn’t just earnestly and calmly set Dean’s pulse racing twice its resting speed. “What is that phrase? The bigger they are, the harder they fall? If I had tried to dance, I probably would've fallen pretty hard. And since taking <i>this</i> form, I haven’t had the occasion to...move in a way that wasn’t violent. Fighting off angels, defending against monsters.”</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>“The way you flipped those pancakes so viciously they stuck to the ceiling.” Dean mutters.</p><p>"Hey!" Cas glares. “If you were crammed into a body far too small for you, you wouldn’t have the greatest fine-motor control either.”</p><p>Dean raises his hands in surrender.</p><p>Cas cocks his head, listening to the shift from one jazz arrangement to another. He narrows his eyes at Dean, a mischievous twinkle glittering in rings of blue. “Have you?”</p><p>“Have I what?”</p><p>“Danced.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Dean immediately thinks of the times he’s grinded against scantily clad women in bars, but those aren’t the kinds of stories he’s too keen on sharing. It’s also probably not what Cas means. He casts his mind back further. He and Sam have been bouncing their heads to music in the Impala all their lives. Dean has grooved alone to Led Zeppelin in many a motel room, playing air guitar. And there was that time when-</p><p>His brain screeches to a halt. </p><p>That time when Lisa had Billie Holiday piping through the living room, and had asked Dean to dance with her. How she’d placed his hand on the small of her back, and draped her own along the curve of his neck. How she’d nudged one foot between his and shifted them together, swaying at the hips. How he’d held her in his arms, moved with the music, and come very close to believing that what they had could actually last as long as the song didn’t end.</p><p>“Dean?” Cas asks, and he snaps out of his reverie. Cas is sporting that little furrow between his brows. God, he’s always so concerned. Dean wishes he weren’t, wishes he didn’t have reason to be.</p><p>“Um, yeah, Cas. I have. Most humans have.” </p><p>Cas’s eyebrows quirk up. “I’m aware. I just didn’t think dancing would be the kind of thing you’d participate in, let alone admit to so readily. It doesn’t seem like your style.” He looks Dean’s slumped figure up and down. “I don’t know that I believe it.” </p><p>Dean bristles. “Is that a challenge?” </p><p>Cas smirks playfully. “Maybe.” </p><p>“Then I guess I’ve got no choice but to teach you. Prove my word and defend my honor.”</p><p>The words hang in the air like a guillotine above their necks before Dean even realizes they’re out of his mouth. Cas stares, that same even look as always, but Dean can see fear buried underneath. Like he didn’t expect Dean’s reaction to his goading, and has suddenly found himself in the deep end without a life vest. Cas bites his lip, and with the flush of pink across his cheekbones and at the tips of his ears, it strikes Dean how <i>human</i> he looks. How human he <i>is.</i> How one of Dean’s primary reasons for maintaining self control and not climbing Cas like a tree all these years has vanished into thin air.</p><p>God, this is a bad idea.</p><p>But Dean said what he said, so he sets down the bottle, gets to his feet with a groan, and brushes off his pant legs. He makes a big show of straightening out his collar, rolling up his sleeves, and clicking the heels of his boots together like Dorothy heading home. He may be as scared shitless as Cas looks, but hell if Dean isn’t practiced enough at humanity to hide it.</p><p>Slowly, with just enough flare for it to be obvious he’s playing it up, Dean bows at the waist. He extends a hand towards Cas with a flourish, palm up, fingers loosely outstretched. He lifts his brows in question.</p><p>Then Dean waits.</p><p>Cas remains still, curled into the corner of his armchair like he sprouted out of the leather overnight. His glass, the last dregs of whiskey pooling at the bottom, rests against his knee, which is currently clad in Dean’s old sweatpants. His mouth has dropped open slightly, clearly stunned by this turn of events and not quite sure how to react.</p><p>His eyes find Dean’s. The fear is front and center now.</p><p>Dean whispers, “C’mon, man, don’t make me do this alone.”</p><p>Cas swallows away the apprehension, mutters “Never,” and takes his hand.</p><p>Dean watches as long legs unfold from where they’ve been tucked underneath him for the last hour, and pulls Cas to his feet. A brief wince crosses his features as he rises, and he rolls one ankle around gently. He presses against where their hands meet for stability. “My leg is all tingly. What did you call that last time? Pins and needles?”</p><p>Dean nods, not trusting his voice to stay steady. He just lets Cas lean on him until his circulation comes back. Then he plucks the glass from Cas’s other hand, sets it on the table, and walks backwards, drawing Cas with him to the center of the room.</p><p>“Okay. So. Um, dancing.” Dean looks down at his feet, hyperaware that he barely knows how to <i>do</i> this, let alone explain it. “You, just...uh…”</p><p>Cas, the bastard, certainly seems angel-ed up enough to still be reading his mind. Either that, or Dean isn’t quite as smooth as he always claims to be. “Are you quite sure you’re qualified to be the instructor of such a skill, Dean?” He’s clearly fighting a smile.</p><p>“Shut up, Angel.” Dean tugs on Cas’s hand abruptly, bringing their chests crashing together and Cas exhaling against his neck. He can smell the bourbon on them both, woody and full of smoke. “Can’t believe your wacky professor vocab isn’t affected by booze.”</p><p>With Dean’s boots still on and Cas stripped down to his wool socks, Dean’s got a solid two inches on the guy. His chin brushes Cas’s cheek, the scrape of stubble sending a shiver down his spine. He skims one hand up Cas’s side, accidentally brushing bare skin above his hip before quickly tucking the worn shirt back into place. His palm settles against Cas’s waist, and his other hand fumbles blindly ‘til their fingers tangle together. Cas’s other hand lands on Dean’s shoulder, his arm resting against Dean’s from wrist to elbow.</p><p>“Alright,” Dean mutters, and tunes his ears into the song beginning to play. A finger-plucked banjo starts to arpeggio some basic chords, followed by a few piano riffs. The tempo is nice and easy, with a swing of syncopation. The sound quality is so crackly, Dean is sure if he turns to look at the speaker it will have transformed into a hand-cranked radio.</p><p>“All you’ve got to do is listen for the rhythm, ‘kay?” Dean presses at Cas’s back minutely, shifting them to one side, and then the other. “Keep your weight on the balls of your feet, and let it carry up to the rest of you. Then just...shift, back and forth, to the beat.”</p><p>“That’s it?” Cas pulls back just enough to look at Dean dubiously. Their faces are close, closer than usual, and Dean self-consciously worries his lower lip. “That doesn’t sound complicated.”</p><p>“Alright, if it’s so easy, Fred Astaire, show me what you got.” </p><p>Cas pulls his best bitch face and grips the juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder harder than he needs to. He begins to sway along with Dean just as a warbling voice starts in with the lyrics.</p><p>
  <i>If I didn’t care, more than words can say...</i>
</p><p>Dean stumbles. Cas steadies him with an amused glance. Oh, fuck, this is a <i>bad</i> idea.</p><p>
  <i>If I didn’t care, would I feel this way?</i>
</p><p>Dean’s heart is trying to kill him. It pounds against the inside of his sternum with a vengeance, like it wants to jump straight out of his chest and fall to the ground at Cas’s feet. He’s damn certain Cas can feel it in the pulse of their joined hands, or where they’re connected from mid-thigh to chest. Dean focuses instead on maintaining his frame, guiding them in a slow circle. Cas can’t seem to take his cues, though, and their knees bump together. It’s strange, after so many years of fighting back to back, moving in sync on the battlefield, that Dean can barely shepherd him in what could only be qualified as a geriatric shuffle. It feels like they should just fit together by now, but it’s not that easy.</p><p>
  <i>If this isn’t love, then why do I thrill?</i>
</p><p>Cas drops his head. His breath goes shaky against Dean’s collarbone, and his weight stutters at the wrong time. “I...I can’t hear it, the beat…” He sounds genuinely worried, like the stakes are higher than they should be. </p><p>Maybe they are.</p><p>“Okay, shh...” Dean tilts his face down just so, and his lips brush Cas’s temple. His brain shrieks, tells him to pull back, step away, <i>now,</i> but Cas is so warm and he doesn't <i>want</i> to put more distance between them. Dean has fantasized about his mouth on Cas’s skin before, and despite their current fumbling it’s far better in waking hours. “Just relax, let me lead.” His hand slides up to the dip of Cas’s spine, and he shifts to hold Cas’s weight more firmly against his own. The room spins, and it isn’t just from the alcohol or their leisurely spiral. It's as if the whole world is turning way too fast, and the centrifugal force that binds it all together meets at the axis where their chests press flush.</p><p>
  <i>And what makes my head go ‘round and ‘round, while my heart...stands...still?</i>
</p><p>Fuck, is this crooner from the ‘30s reading his mind or something?</p><p>Cas moves when Dean nudges him, but can’t quite find the rhythm himself. He’s leaning too far side to side, like he’s bumping shoulders with invisible neighbors. Dean rearranges their feet to accommodate. “Okay, um...try to move more in the hips than the torso. Keep your center of gravity lower, that'll help wi-...yes, like that. And keep your chest level, don’t...arc so much.” Cas, ever the brilliant student, adjusts immediately. “Yeah, that’s it, good. Now really listen to the music, you’ll feel the rhythm. Like a heartbeat.” </p><p>
  <i>If I didn’t care, would it be the same? </i>
</p><p>No, it wouldn’t, Dean thinks. Holding anyone else in his arms while three sheets to the wind and severely touch-starved would just feel like feeding some careless physical urge. It wouldn’t feel like...<i>this.</i></p><p>Like he’s floating, even as their toes bump and they stumble gracelessly. <i>Ha,</i> gracelessly. It hits him in the gut again that Cas is a real boy now. Drunk, safe, human, and <i>here</i>. With greying temples and scars where his wings used to be, Cas is sticking around this time. Once and for all. Even that night with Lisa, that Billie Holiday dance, Dean had only wished it wouldn’t end because he was afraid of what he would become when it inevitably did.</p><p>This time, with Cas, he finds himself wishing it won’t end just because it feels so right.</p><p>He can't name this feeling, this need to carry something in his arms like it’s precious. Not just because letting go would mean something horrible, but because having it and holding it forever could mean something miraculous.</p><p>
  <i>Would my every prayer begin and end with just your name?</i>
</p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>They’ve stopped moving, Dean realizes. Cas’s fingers are moving through the hair at the nape of his neck. They are quite literally pressed cheek to cheek like a vintage romance film. A huff of laughter fills the negligible space between them, and Dean isn’t sure who it comes from. But the irony does hit his drunk brain: all his prayers literally begin with <i>Cas.</i></p><p>Well, not so literally anymore. But maybe that’s the point.</p><p>Dean pulls back and tucks a finger under Cas's chin, tilting his face up so he can catch Cas’s gaze. His cornflower blue eyes are bright in the warm glow of the room, and he is so beautiful it makes Dean ache.</p><p>
  <i>And would I be sure that this is <b>love</b> beyond compare?</i>
</p><p>Oh. That’s the word he was looking for.</p><p>Their lips meet for the first time in a bunker in Lawrence, Kansas, and it isn’t fireworks or confetti or a trumpet fanfare. It’s the quiet snapping of a twig in a dam, long since holding up too much weight. It’s the final puzzle piece that makes the whole picture fall into place. It is freedom and glory and love, quiet and simple like no one ever expects it to be.</p><p>Cas pulls away after a dizzying moment. The gentle smile on his face is small and blinding. “We're terrible dancers, Dean.”</p><p>Dean grins wickedly. He scoops an arm under Cas’s knees and hauls him into a bridal carry, leaving Cas scrambling at his neck and clutching at his shoulders to stay upright. "Dean!" His gasp of surprise hits Dean’s nose, and Dean swallows the soft, shocked noise he makes with another kiss. He lets the press of Cas cradled against him soothe his soul before spinning them in a dramatic twirl that leaves Cas clinging to Dean's shirt for dear life.</p><p>“Lucky for us, I’ve got some other moves that’ll sweep you off your feet.”</p><p>"Lucky for <i>you</i>, I have the patience of a literal saint. If you drop me, I will smite you." </p><p>Dean sucks his teeth. "You're only human, buddy."</p><p>Cas angles his head into the crook of Dean's neck, nuzzling his nose against the pulse point there. "I am also, in your own words, a 'stubborn son-of-a-bitch.' I promise, you drop me and I <i>will</i> find a way to fling you back into Hell." He bites at Dean's jaw, then soothes it with a kiss.</p><p>Dean whimpers, and doesn't wait another moment before striding back to the armchair and sitting down, carefully settling Cas sideways on his lap. They're kissing again by the time the final words of the song echo around them.

</p><p>
  <i>Would all this be true, if I didn’t care for you?</i>
</p><p>They do fit together, after all. It just takes a little work.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UC_VzbtRGr0">“If I Didn’t Care”</a> by The Ink Spots, 1939.</p><p>While writing, I definitely pictured that shot from the blooper reel of Jensen and Misha dancing. You know the one, but <a href="https://leftistdean.tumblr.com/post/635328448895844352/no-need-to-check-up-on-dean-and-cas-in-heaven">here it is</a> anyway.</p><p>Also please enjoy this wonderful fan art:<br/><a href="https://www.deviantart.com/l-a-m-o-n/art/Slow-dancing-destiel-bcs-fq-u-thats-why-479123882">these!</a> <a href="https://castielsgal.tumblr.com/post/179731086034/dean-can-be-so-romantic-some-times">two!</a> <a href="https://hvnteddean.tumblr.com/post/187619229240/destiel-dancing-you-know-i-had-to-do-it-this-is">are!</a> <a href="https://quiet-leviathan.tumblr.com/post/175501337561/why-dont-we-ever-dance-more-often-what-are">just!</a> <a href="https://vyxon7.tumblr.com/post/190328530301/just-wanna-draw-cuddly-bois">so!</a> <a href="https://1940sdeancas.tumblr.com/post/112023731591">in!</a> <a href="https://casscruffybeard.tumblr.com/post/77679794860/praisekinks-nother-step-of-dean-teaching-cas">love!</a></p><p>If any of you feel inspired to draw your own after reading, I would be happy to display it here!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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